Sorry Doesn't Cut It
by Hopscotch and Link
Summary: Spot Conlon doesn't apologize. Ever. This time, he does. But sometimes, even for him, sorry doesn't say enough. [Slashy one-shot]


Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't even own the font that I'm typing in. Which FanFiction is failing to display. Oh well.

This is meant to be confusing and ambiguous. Don't ask why, not even I know. I might revise it in the future if enough people ask me to. So anyways, on to the story!

**_The_** wind whistled between the buildings of Manhattan, and Racetrack pulled his thin shirt closer to his body. Hugging his papes to his chest, he scanned the nearly empty roads for a potential buyer. A little girl and her puppy ran in front of a house, ignoring the call of her mother to come inside. Race enviously watched the fireplace crackle. When the little girl finally heeded her mother, the door shut firmly, blocking the warmth from him. Slowly, Race continued on his journey to Sheepshead. The faint call of other newsies peddling the papes made him feel a little better, knowing that he wasn't the only one freezing outside that day. A carriage clattered noisily up behind him, the cabby yelling and shaking his whip in Race's direction. He jumped out of the way and waited for the buggy to turn the corner. Bouncing on his heels, Race counted the seconds as the horses trotted away from him. Twenty seconds passed before Race set off running after the carriage. He saw the tall hat of the driver, and jumped lightly onto the back of the carriage, crouching out of sight. Protected from the brunt of the wind and chill, Race settled back and watched the landmarks pass by, waiting for his stop. One leg dangled freely off the back of the carriage, his foot occasionally bouncing along the pavement. His papes kept struggling to fly away, and Race concentrated on subduing them. Finally, Race gave up and sat on the rebellious papers. Glancing around, Race tried to reorient himself with his surroundings. It wasn't too long before he realized he'd missed his stop, and was already in Brooklyn. Sighing at his misfortune, he gathered his papes and hopped off the buggy. The horses pulled it out of sight, and he began walking back the way he'd come.

The streets of Brooklyn were unusually quiet, but Race shrugged it off. Spot had probably organized a big party and his newsies were too exhausted and too drunk to sell today. Not that it mattered, because they didn't have to pay rent like the Manhattan newsies did. The owner of the lodging house let the Brooklyn newsies stay in return for his life. Race considered it a fair investment.

He reached the bridge and looked back at the peaceful exterior of Brooklyn. Race knew that if he bothered to enter the heart of Brooklyn, it would be far from quiet and peaceful. Shrugging, he spun on his heel and started to walk across the bridge. Halfway across, a sharp _twang_ vibrated the support cable next to him. Shortly after, a muted _plop_ sounded from below. Race peered over and saw ripples from the fall fight with the current. Another _twang_ followed, directly above his head, a small stone striking his ear painfully. He gripped the cord to stop it from shaking and turned to face his offender. No one stood on the bridge, but he could feel someone watching him. Another rock whizzed past his face and struck the exact same spot as the previous one. Racetrack clapped appreciatively and discreetly scanned the trees. His eyes rested on one, set apart from the rest and perfect for hiding in.

"Very impressive, Spot," he called out. A rock arched out of the tree, rolling to a stop before his feet. Race smiled. He loved when his gambles paid off. "Spot Conlon, come down and face me like the man you pretend to be!"

A lithe figure dropped from the tree and strode toward Race. The wind whipped around Spot as well, but Spot showed no sign of the cold. "If it isn't the little prancing pony." He spit into his hand and held it out. Race followed suit and shook hands with the Brooklyn leader.

"You're looking as womanly as ever, Spot," Race commented. Spot glared at Race for a moment. Maybe Race shouldn't joke, Spot didn't seem like he was in a good mood. As Race opened his mouth to apologize, Spot smiled and laughed.

"Oh, that was good. You should've seen your face." Spot trailed his index fingers down his cheeks, imitating tears. "Spot is going to beat me down, save me!" He snickered and walked away. "Come and relax for a bit at my place. You don't have anywhere to go," he said, turning his head to look at Race, "do you?"

Race feigned surprise. "Me?" He thrust his papes behind his back and smiled winningly. "Of course not. What would I be doing here if I had somewhere to go?" He followed Spot into Brooklyn, silently cursing himself for getting himself into this situation.

Spot didn't look back, but kept up a lively one-sided conversation, telling Race all about the latest occurrences in Brooklyn. Race half-listened, keeping an eye out for his own well-being. No newsie in his right mind would dare attack Spot, but Race had no assurance he had that security. When Spot finally took a breath in his speech, Race cut in.

"Why aren't your boys out selling today?" He tried to make it sound casual, but Spot glanced sharply at Race when he said it.

"Who said they weren't?"

"It's just that they're awfully quiet for newsies if they're out selling right now." Spot considered this, his head cocked.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't know where they are." He shrugged and started up his conversation where he left off.

"Wait, wait, wait," Race interjected. "That's it? You don't know? What's up with you? You can't –"

Spot turned and slammed Race into the wall. "I can't? Race, I can do anything I want, whenever I want. Just because Manhattan is a nice, cozy place where everything works just perfectly, doesn't mean that Brooklyn is the same way. If you came here to tell me how to run my city, Go Away. That's the last thing I'd expect from you, Racetrack."

Race stood there in silence, stunned. He hadn't meant to say anything offensive, but Spot wasn't usually this uptight. Slowly, his wits returned.

"Spot, I didn't come here for anything. I was leaving yourcity alone, and you forced me to come here. I was trying to _leave_."

"Then go! I don't need you here."

"I'm going!" Race tried to walk away, but Spot had effectively pinned him to the wall. "Uh, Spot," he said, "maybe you could, I don't know, _let go_ of me so I can go?" Spot released him and turned away. "Spot?"

"Just go."

Race blinked in surprise. He walked away with his hands stuffed in his pockets. It wasn't until he had nearly exited the city before he realized he'd dropped his papes somewhere. Searching frantically for them, he retraced his steps. Nearly back to where he'd left Spot, he saw his papes stacked neatly under a tree. Hurrying to get them, he felt something land on his back. It rolled off his back onto the newspapers and Race froze. The marble gleamed up at him, innocently. Slowly lifting his head, Race peered into the tree. Three Brooklyn newsies sat there, slingshots loaded and trained on him. He smiled weakly.

"Hi guys."

The newsies smiled back menacingly and Race dropped his papes. He backed up slowly, watching as all three slings moved back with him. In a burst of speed, he spun around and ran for the bridge. Two of the newsies dropped down and gave chase, while the other shouted Race's position. Race ran desperately towards the edge of the city, feeling welts appear where the marbles bounced off his back. The bridge finally came into view and Race sprinted as fast as he could. The torrents of marbles eased up and finally stopped, but Race kept on running. The newsies' footsteps stopped, and at the edge of the bridge, he chanced a look back. They were nowhere in sight, and he couldn't hear the newsie who had remained in the tree. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the railing and tried to catch his breath.

A movement caught his eye. Not far in front of him, a boy hung over the railing, dropping stones into the river. Race looked closer and saw it was Spot. Taking a deep breath, he walked by. Spot mumbled something, and Race paused. He didn't repeat it.

"What?" Race asked.

"I said I'm sorry," Spot mumbled again, clearer this time.

"Sorry for what?"

Spot stood up and looked at Race. "You're serious?" Race didn't reply, so Spot sighed and continued. "For making you stay, for slamming you into the wall, for making you lose your papes, for making my boys beat you up…" He looked down at the floor. "And for making you miss your stop to Sheepshead."

"_You_ made me miss my stop?"

"I figured I had something to do with it, since everything else was my fault." Race looked at him incredulously. "Hey, this isn't easy to do, okay? No one else has heard an apology from Spot Conlon. Ever. Consider yourself lucky." Spot fiddled with his cane, trying not to look into Race's eyes.

"Are you okay?" Race asked.

"Yeah, do I not look okay?"

"You look… different. Un-Spot-like."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know… you just do. Is that all I'm going to hear? Or is there more to this rare apology?"

Spot didn't answer. Race pursed his lips and stepped closer. "Spot, you sure you're okay?" He placed a hand on Spot's shoulder. Spot flinched, but grabbed the hand before Race could remove it. He slowly turned around and met Race's concerned gaze.

"There's one more thing I'm sorry about," he whispered.

"What's that?"

Spot pulled an astonished Race to him and kissed him on the mouth. He broke away and released Race's hand. Wiping his mouth, he said, "Sorry." He bent his head and walked back toward Brooklyn. Race followed him with his eyes, not sure about what had happened. His hand tingled from where Spot's fingers had rested. His lips felt warm from the kiss. Finally, Race called out to him.

"Spot?"

Spot turned reluctantly. "Yes?"

Race crossed the space between them in three steps and grabbed Spot's wrist. He pressed his lips on Spot's. When they finally broke apart, Race smiled. "Don't be sorry."

A/N:

See the pretty blue-purple button on your left? Press it... type a few nice words... and click submit... please?


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